


Violent Encounters

by wolfwars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Burning, F/F, Fire, Sexual Content, Violence, all the warnings in the world, i'm a terrible person here we go pwp, samaritan!shaw, who am i? who have i become
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwars/pseuds/wolfwars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of meetings between Root and operative!Shaw over a series of time. ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violent Encounters

* * *

" _A loaded gun won't set you free_

_So you say." - **Joy Division** , New Dawn Fades._

* * *

 

 

Four. 

 

_///// 00000 Lexington Ave. 00000 ////_

 

_[[We’ve got to stop meeting like this…]]_

  

Her nose is broken and two ribs perilously close to being fractured inside of her chest. It’s the fourth time she’s seen Sameen and the only thing she’s done successfully about that fact is bleed on the operative’s shirt. She feels stronger hands tugging into her back as she’s pushed up, through the room and then slammed into one of the walls—Sameen’s form quickly catching up to her. 

The Machine whispers in her ear: _Two coming up the stairs. Leave._

She tries catching her breath but her dear Sameen is squeezing at her neck and suddenly her lungs feel like they are about to burst. _Exit escape at left._

Shaw’s eyes flicker to the stairs as well and now it’s a rush to see who will get there first and who will be handed over like shark bait. Root’s adrenaline is pumping. She’s been waiting for so long… it’s felt like centuries since they’ve last met and even if it’s only this, with blood streaking past Shaw’s forearms and hands and palms dragging the air from her throat—

She’s delighted.

“Remember the last time, Sameen?”

Eyes dart up wildly to look into hers. They scrunch and she sees that familiar tug between anger and remembrance.

 

_Who got you to turn it off? Who made you into their little machine?_

“That was the last time.”

“Was it, Sameen?”

Shaw tells her over and over again. _Stop._

The Machine tells her to run away. Then it tells her exactly what Sameen Shaw tells her: Sierra, Tango, Oscar, Papa.

 

 THREE. 

 

“Sameen?”

She heard the _pop_ of the gunshot by her head and Root throws herself to the ground. The bullets graze above her on the wall but she was unharmed. The Machine beeped in her ear, 5 o’clock.

Root spun around, grasping at the sides of the wall to stand back up but it was too late.

“Stop, Root.” Shaw reached down and pushed Root’s gun away with her foot, her hands reaching out to grip her shoulders.

“Why would I stop now? This is only our second date.”

Shaw growled again and she felt a sharp pain in the side of her face, near her eye, where the woman’s fist hit with imperceptible speed and momentum. Root pushed up on her legs and Shaw crowded her closer to the wall with her body.

 _“You know I like it dirty, Sameen,”_ she purred. Root reached to touch the quickly-bruising patch of skin and let out a laugh, the air popping out around bleeding lips. The only unacceptable thing was that Shaw was nearly _spotless_.

Root had very few moves went it came to disarming someone who is was more highly trained and skilled in field combat then herself. She spit in Shaw’s face and the girl recoiled.

Her eyes burned angrily into Root’s.

Shaw shoved her away, hard then punched her again and again. She gasped and wheezed and curled in towards her stomach, Root’s hands digging in to try and shield herself.

“Anger was always your go-to, wasn’t it? It must mean you’re starting to feel something again,” She says between sputtering coughs but Root is strong and she won’t look away. She can’t be punched away so instead she moves tentative hands to grip Shaw’s cheeks and with just the element of surprise (the only real element Root’s _ever_ had in this war) she leans in and kisses her.

And then like many, many months ago, she feels the world spinning out of control and Shaw is pushing her away and back, back into the world of pain. It feels like the elevator doors are closing in on her again.

What a shame.

 

 

 

Two.

  

///abandoned warehouse/// 5th and 6th

 

She’s not sure when they _relented_. When grappling bodies twisted and instead of receiving bullet wounds from afar, she was dealing blows in person. Root was just happy to be near her. 

She felt her body shove backwards before colliding with a stairwell’s rails. The sides dug into her and she was starting to really wrack up a hospital bill with their monthly ‘dates’. She thinks back to the easier days of zip-ties, C.I.A warehouses and threatened torture—now they are both just analog interfaces for a battle in the middle of a war they never meant to begin. 

But their gods roll into each other, grounding and breaking like thunder. Tearing at everything.

“I’ve never been more turned on then I am right now,” Root grunts out. She’s been proving herself coy even in these moments. Her eye still black and blue, her lips still slashed down but stitched back together.

Shaw kicks her and the kick lands right in her stomach. Root groans and reaches for her side where blood is still dripping through the poorly made dressings on her skin. Red pokes out.

Root uses some of the combat training that Shaw instilled in her (and that Reese carries on and it fills them both with nostalgia. They punch and twist and then take coffee breaks where no one mentions things like Shaw or Carter or ‘Samaritan’). 

“ _Oh, Sweetie,”_ She doesn’t move nearly fast enough because Shaw is striking her hard and her body is quelling under the fury of her blows.

“Enough with the foreplay, Root. Where’s she hiding?” Out of all the damage she’s been on receiving end of in these past weeks it’s things like this… little moments where Shaw once again sounds like herself that really hurt her the most. ‘ _Enough with the verbal foreplay, Root’._

Shaw’s hands move to grip onto her shirt blouse. The shirt already disheveled and messy, her jacket crumbling at the edges where she’s hidden several different guns. Shaw’s guns. She carried them around for _good luck_. Now she carries them around while looking for Shaw and every brutal ass-kicking she receives while looking for her… well maybe she deserves just a little of it.

“I love what comes after the foreplay,” Root says back. 

Shaw’s still searching for answers but she’s impatient. Angry. Shaw pulls Root’s wrist until bones shudder and _so close to breaking_ … Root lets out a whine. Their bodies crash together and Root feels her eyes drooping. There’s a lot of pain crackling out of her skull, her head feels like it’s on fire.

“Tell me,” Shaw’s eyes flash dangerously and again, she’s reminded of _I’LL END YOU_. The same rage but now diluted into ‘cold’ anger. Nothing from Shaw seems real _anymore_.

She bats her eyelashes. Then lets out a dark chuckle, “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” The Machine warns her that she’s running out of time before she’ll go unconscious. There might even be mild concussions from the blast from earlier. That’s what happens when you set up the fake trail, the false headquarters of their wonderful Machine. Boom! Explosion!

Operatives running out of the woodwork in a hurry, blinded. Shaw running into her or her running into Shaw? Who knows anymore.

 

She gets thrown over the railing. All she remembers is the crash.

 

 

 

FIVE

 

She’s left a trail of Samaritan bodies all along the corridors but now it’s just them—well for another forty minutes anyway. There’s Martine who is on her way. Martine who is half-useless now that there’s been an inner-coo… apparently a perfect, logical, infinite being _can_ get angry and decide you’re incredibly replaceable and then throw you to the dogs of war. 

Martine is the past. Operative Sameen Shaw is their future.

Root should have seen this coming. That Samaritan would fall in love with all the little broken pieces of Sameen that Root fell for. Of course they would see what an asset she could be and decide to utilize what she could bring into their fucked up, twisted, little games.

“Looks like it’s just us for a while,” Root puts out her bait. She hopes Shaw will actually respond to her this time. She misses the eye rolling, the exaggerated sighs and mild threats of stiletto-stabbing. Anything that will bring back the old Sameen. _Her_ Sameen.

 

“C’mon, Sameen, it’s no fun playing with myself…”

“Fuck you,” the operative spits out. Her body feels hot and Root wants to say it again and again: _We’ve got to stop meeting like this_. Because it’s true. And shouldn’t Shaw be able to eliminate her by now? Shouldn’t it involve less touching and shoving and as Shaw’s body presses hard into hers Root wants it all just to end already.

 

She’s so, so very tired.

Her leg is bleeding out onto the floor. Shaw is finally scratched too and where Root bleeds, Shaw bleeds. Shaw’s left her bruises and cuts and other little things to run her fingers over at night… Root’s been better lately in her retaliations. 

Shaw’s arm is bandaged up nice and tight and there’s an angry blotch growing on the side of her sharp cheekbones but Samaritan is still there. Crooning orders into her ear.

 _We can’t both have you_ , Root thinks.

She crashes a brick into the left side of Shaw’s head and it smashes into her earpiece device. 

Shaw thrashes backwards but then her head is meeting the wall, her face coated in blood. She finally has the upper hand. It’s fried. She’s done it. Finally, she’s done it. Root curls her fingers into Shaw’s hair and drags her leg in between Shaw’s. Now they’re both red and bleeding and she wants to sing in joy because this is it, this is the end.

Shaw’s staring back up at her with a mix of hurt and wounded looks.

She reaches up, dragging her fingernails across the dangling, broken wires. The tips of her nails scratch against her earlobe and then up and down into a little circle. 

“You look so beautiful like this, Shaw,” she runs her hands past the blood and then grips her hair tight. Shaw’s eyes flash with something that creates a new tension, low in her stomach, “I could just hurt you again and again.” 

Her brown eyes widen and Root presses their lips together, slow but sure. She releases Shaw’s hair but only so she can pull her unresponsive face in closer and closer, taking whatever it is she _wants_. And Root wants everything. She would devour her up. She bites her lip and Shaw’s rigid in her arms but then Root is pushing until there is only Root and only Shaw. 

“ _Sameen_ ,” she growls playfully. She lays more kisses on her lips and they meter out between hard and sickeningly soft. Her fingers tangle in and out of the operative’s hair and she finds herself _lost_ in Sameen. Dazed and enraptured and keening to have more and more of her. When she looks back up, blown pupils blink back at her.

“You can push me over a stairwell but you can’t give me a kiss?”  Root laughs at her mockingly, “You’re such a coward.”

 

That is what sets off time six.

 

 

SIX

 

[[ ///HOTEL ROOM AND DROP SITE ]]] ///

 

Shaw tears the hot iron off the wall and the plug dangles behind it. 

She tosses it into Root’s lap.

“We’re going to finish what we started,” Shaw tells her and Root is eager to comply. She jumps up from the bed (suddenly happy that she hunted her Sameen down now that it looked like it was going to be a worthwhile expedition and not another trip to the OR) and plugs in the iron. She looks back up, eyes trained on Shaw’s. 

She doesn’t know what she expects but she watches as the woman steps over to her in her quiet, gracefulness. Hands grip onto her waist and Root is pushed—back—onto the bed in a _less than graceful_ swoop.

The woman climbs over her body and Root looks at the earpiece, put perfectly back into place. Her own ear is chiming in every few minutes or so to inform her of Shaw’s heart rate or the likelihood of this ending up in a terrible disaster which chances are pretty high for. 

Root closes her eyes briefly and enjoys the feeling of Shaw on top of her. 

After all, how many times had she wanted this?

Root shuffles over and puts her fingertip against the metal. It’s burning hot enough and Root has a funny moment of remembering what Shaw had said: ‘like a four-alarm fire in an oil refinery’ and thinks amusedly about how one of them is about to _actually_ get burned. Shaw’s staring at her and Samaritan is giving orders and Root is suddenly feeling a little claustrophic with all these extra ‘bodies’ in the room.

But instead she puts the iron down momentarily and then runs her hands over Shaw’s black t-shirt before slowly tugging it off, eyes admiringly going over every inch of skin that she’s suddenly aching to touch. To do this slowly.

How many times had she wanted this? How long had she _waited_ for this?

She blinks and lets her hands run over the skin, which is softer than she thought although the scarring isn’t. She traces past a bruise she put there herself and a gunshot from months ago where she’d just managed to graze Shaw’s sides. 

“Root,” Shaw grits out, warningly. Root nods and then grabs the iron.

“Where do we begin?”

Shaw’s skin is already so hot but Root runs her fingers down to a patch of unmarked skin on her hips. _I enjoy this kind of thing_. That had been running in her mind for a very, very long time. Root had a lot to prove—to herself and to Shaw. She wanted it to go right. Skin sizzled even hotter and she could hear the noise as hot iron met with skin. Shaw groaned and her body twisted but she didn’t beg her to stop so Root let the burn finish then moved the iron away, evaluating the injury with some scrutiny.

“How does that feel, honey?” She asked, voice dripping but not with the usual sarcasm. They both had dark eyes and reddened cheeks. It was embarrassing how you can shove two violent, bloodthirsty operatives into a room together and turn them into impish teens with just a little bit of torture play. 

Shaw let out a hot, answering sigh. Root felt unbearably hot all the sudden too as she watched Shaw squirm in pleasure. She rushed down to press their lips together and this time lips met hers back and pushed and shoved and left her trembling. 

“ _Again_ ,” Shaw orders. But all the bite is taken out of her voice as her eyelids droop to half-lidded, she’s too zonked out on the pain to truly be commanding. So Root does what Root wants. 

“ _No_.” She moves her hands to linger, meaningfully, against the hem of Shaw’s jeans.

 _This_ first.

“Root…”

Her resolve hardens and Root is twisting until she can drag the pants down, hands are shoving them away and then gripping her until she’s spun—back onto her back and Shaw is straddling her. They breathe heavy but shift against each other like restless animals stuck in the same cage. Shaw grips over old cuts and wounds and then is shoving Root’s jeans off and past her ankles. She reaches around to tear them all the way off then she’s shoving the rest of her clothes off, no preamble and no taunts.

This is just another fight to them. 

They never really learned how to stop fighting, after all. 

Shaw’s fingers are twisting inside of her and Root screams and cries (but not from _pain_ this time). She pushes against the fingers and Shaw sets no sort of pace, just brutally takes what she wants as she wants it. She feels too much, too much of everything and their skin burns as it rubs together. It's too much, too fast.

Sameen’s teeth bite into her neck and the pain is so good and fingers curling just so…

_" _F-fuck,_ Sameen." _

 

They’ve really got to stop meeting like this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
